My
three-year-old nephew has recently become obsessed with Spider-man, so much
that he is now rarely seen without his own costume and mask. My sister-in-law
has been adamant about which version of the comic book super-hero her young son
is permitted to watch, with only a classic 80s cartoon being non-violent
enough for his malleable mind. We are careful about how we expose children to ideas, whether in
setting examples as role models or by giving them proper ones for heroes. Not
that my nephew is likely to have spider-like abilities in the future, but if he
did I am certain that he would choose to wrap bad guys in web rather than harm
them.

But how can I be
certain that our entertainment can even have that kind of effect on behavior
and character? The answer to that question lies in City Lights; a comedic romance in pantomime by Charles Chaplin,
made years after silent films had become a thing of the past. City Lights may not be Chaplin’s best
film, and it is far from his funniest, but I have it listed as my favorite
because of the last five minutes of the film. Even with nearly two decades
passing between viewings, I still had those final images burned into my brain.
I loved Chaplin as a child. He was my hero, and those final five minutes taught
me how to love. Within the deepest fibers of my soul is a tattered bowler hat
in search of a rose to be plucked from the gutter.

City Lights is a film about true love
without any hesitation or reservation, completely selfless and wholly pure in
intentions. When a blind flower girl (Virginia Cherrill) mistakenly assumes the
Little Tramp to be a wealthy gentleman, he does all that he can to continue
this illusion in her mind. Unable to see him, all that matter is his ability to
provide a nominal amount of money when visiting her. This becomes more
difficult when an eviction notice makes a larger sum of money necessary to
protect his new love, and the Little Tramp sets out on a series of desperate
attempts at earning money.

Among these
sequences is the film’s funniest bit, in which our Tramp attempts a boxing
match for the prize money. For more Chaplin boxing, excerpts from the 1915
short film, The Champion, are
included in the special features. City
Lights is also filled with the hijinks that the Tramp gets into with an unlikely
friendship made with a drunken millionaire who repeatedly dismisses him upon
sobering and welcomes him once inebriated again. The entire film has sequences
of the Tramp being lifted up slightly, only to lose that footing as quickly as
it came. He takes his own misfortune with the cheery optimism we are accustomed
to seeing from the Tramp, with the exception of that final sequence.

Everything which
occurs in City Lights is leading up
to those last couple of minutes. We see the Tramp as we have never seen him
before, dejected and worn down in a way that is heartbreaking. And then he sees
the blind flower girl, now able to see due to his selfless actions. The
looks of joy, embarrassment and love in Chaplin’s face during those final
minutes of City Lights may be the
single greatest moments of cinematic acting recorded in the 80-some years since it was created. While reviewing this
much-anticipated Blu-ray release from Criterion, I watched the ending twice.
Both times it made me cry. Even the mere thought of those images, engrained in
my brain and etched in my heart, brings me to tears as I put these words to
page. The Little Tramp taught me to love, I have loved City Lights ever since that first lesson, and it continues to teach
me with each viewing.

The Blu-ray
release is a dual-format, which just means that it comes with a DVD as well as
the high definition disc. All of the content is available on both discs, with a
new digital restoration from a 4K film transfer, with an uncompressed monaural
soundtrack. The special features are fittingly impressive, with astonishing
behind-the-scenes footage of the set, a dress rehearsal and even a completed
sequence which was cut from the film. There are also many retrospectives on the
film’s quality, from a 2003 documentary to Chaplin biographer Jeffrey Vance’s
all-new audio commentary. The commentary is clearly an essay being read aloud
during the run-time of the film, which is a bit dry despite being filled with
wonderful insight. The package also comes with a booklet featuring an essay by
critic Gary Giddins and a 1966 interview with Chaplin.